


Nobody gets hitched till somebody's dead in a ditch

by batsaboutbats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Gay Sex, M/M, Marriage, Undercover Identities, brujay - Freeform, childhood crush, mobster wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsaboutbats/pseuds/batsaboutbats
Summary: Mobsters love a wedding, almost as much as their local diners with questionable meatballs atop fresh spaghetti.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 144





	Nobody gets hitched till somebody's dead in a ditch

Mobsters love a wedding, almost as much as their local diners with questionable meatballs atop fresh spaghetti. No self respecting mob member would be caught at supper without their guard up, their legendary paranoia worthy of Hollywood blockbusters. It was only during nuptial celebrations that the crime families would relax even minutely enough for any vigilante to slip in and investigate their operations. They'd usually call a truce among warring factions and rival families. Weddings, unlike anything else, were sacred in the mob's book. Even in a shitstain town like Gotham.

When Bruce had proposed they worked together on the Artino family's cocaine operation, Jason had no idea that it would land him in what he could only describe as a big fat mob wedding. There were no blushing brides this go round, just one very bewildered Peter Jackson (alias) and a smirking, smarmy Matches Malone across from him at the altar. Like the rest of his disguises for this persona, Matches was decked out in the tackiest tuxedo he'd ever laid eyes on. It was a shade so blue it was practically neon, loud enough to be seen from space, and Jason was shocked to remember that he had not seen Bruce in that color since he was wearing scaley shorts and scaling skyscrapers.

Jason wasn't sure if it was better or worse that Matches' trademark aviator sunglasses had been ditched for the ceremony, letting the world see just how Malone's eyes hadn't left his groom-to-be's face. It was hot in the chapel, or maybe there was a blushing bride on the altar afterall, because Jason felt like he was being burned alive as he stood there making a sham of the sanctity of a union.

He barely heard the priest's droning speech, robotically answering in kind when prompted. His voice shook, though he wasn't sure if it was nerves or hysteria. It took all of his strength to stay on his feet when it was the final act of the entire charade, but Matches' hands on his waist were so strong that he realizes it's the only thing keeping him upright.

“By the power vested in me, I declare you wedded  _ partners _ .” The priest obviously had no idea what to call them, as it was probably the first time he'd seen two men married, much less officiated. Jason wondered if the Artinos had threatened him to perform the ceremony or else.

Jason freezes, meeting his (fake) husband's eyes, the only part of him visible that is unmistakably  _ Bruce. _ This whole operation is doing things to him. All he's ever wanted most in his life was to be seen and acknowledged. He's off his game just enough that he lets himself be hauled close, their chests brushing together intimately. 

The polyester suits are sweltering, spreading the blush down Jason's neck like a heat rash. A full body tremble goes through him when the calloused tip of Matches' thumb presses his chin up, Jason's lips parting on instinct. He almost says it-- the name his heart has always cherished but his brain kept under lock and key, because opening that little Pandora's box would truly end his world.

The mustache is scratchy and tastes like hair grease smells, but that mouth is firm and warm over his own. It is all Jason can focus on despite the fact they are surrounded by at least a hundred organized crime members, half of which are probably packing heat. He knows the Don's grandmother in the front row has a pistol strapped to her withered thigh, he spotted it on his way up.

When he comes back to awareness, his eyes fluttering open, ( _ when did they close?) _ it’s Bruce, not Matches, watching him back. A blink later and it is gone, those damn aviators appearing out of the man's vest. Stumbling, Jason is pulled along as Matches tugs him away from the altar by the wrist. They make it down the front steps of the church before they get pelted with rice and flower petals as the Artinos and their thug friends congratulate them to a chorus of wolf whistles. The limo is navy blue with streamers and cans tied to the bumper, JUST MARRIED artfully scrawled over the bulletproof back window in white paint marker.

He doesn't let go of his hand the entire ride to where they'll be enjoying a honeymoon penthouse atop the finest hotel mob money can buy in Gotham. Predictably it's one that Wayne Enterprises owns, made possible by several shell corporations and Oracle's creative financial web weaving. They only part hands long enough to get out, Matches opening the door for his new husband.

Jason ignores how his heart jumps when their hands join again, while they trail after the bellhop to the private elevator. He is unprepared when Matches grabs the bellhop's shoulder and pushes him out of the elevator, winking over his sunglasses.

“Sorry chump, we're in need of a bit of privacy. Just got hitched and I want to enjoy the ride.” He jabs the button to close the doors before they can so much as complain. Jason turns to him, jaw hanging in shock.

“Did you really have to--” He starts, before he finds himself yanked off his axis, tripping into Matches' broad chest with a whoof. This time the kiss isn't chaste, a lifetime of playboy antics and dedicated study to the art of seduction coming into play like a royal flush at the tables. Jason is kissed within inches of his life, and a small part of himself wouldn’t have minded dying again if it were like this.

Much later he'll say he let Matches manhandle him because it was for their cover. It would be pride talking, because the truth is that he wants it. He gets pressed against the wall, the hand rail digging into the lowest part of his spine, as Matches mouth works a bruise over his pulse. Tilting back his head seems a natural progression to the act, especially when a thick thigh nestles between his legs and shoves up hard enough to make him stand on tiptoe.

“Ah  _ God _ ,” Teeth graze his earlobe and that's it, his brain resigns on the spot, leaving only the one between his legs at the helm. 

Matches steps back and Jason leans forward to follow him, almost whining when he's thwarted by a hand on his chest. It takes him an embarrassingly long moment to realize they've reached their floor, and all he can do now is follow Matches into the short hallway where their suite awaits. One slide of the keycard later and they are inside the unlit room.

“Override, _BW 675180240_.” Bruce says flatly, lights flickering twice. Probably a code to wipe out any listening devices that may have been slid into their suite. 

Jason freezes by the door, noting that the tone is inherently the Bat. No longer the playful, sleazy Matches. Shame washes over him as he tries to calm his nerves, desperately wishing that his hard-on would stop swelling against the seam of his slacks.  _ Stupid _ , _ stupid _ , _ stupid _ , he mouths to the ceiling, stubbornly not closing his burning eyes.

Bruce is looking at him when he calms enough to notice, the aviators dangling from his strong, thick fingers. Bruce has always been hard to read, and Jason's not Dick who mastered the art after so long in his shadow. But he can recognize a Bruce who is disappointed and a Bruce who is lost in his own head, probably compartmentalizing the reaction Jason's body had to his, putting it down as basic biology and his youth.

Except now Jason has no snappy quip or snide jokes to make, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land as he struggles to map out their conversation. The way Bruce's brow rising is all it takes for Jason to get back to full mast, blushing and unable to hide from scrutiny. He can't say a word, much less breathe when Bruce comes close, hand resting on his hip like he owns him. He does, has from the moment he picked him up by the scruff like a misbehaving pup in crime alley.

Shame washes down Jason's spine like a heatwave because now Bruce knows and he never wanted him to. Things were just starting to settle down between them and he thought he was going to be forgiven. Accepted, maybe. Instead, Bruce is going to reject him and he’s never going to be able to look the man in the eye again. He doubts he'd be able to stay in Gotham city limits, much less the entire state of New Jersey.

“Jaylad.” Bruce's firm, patient tone breaks through his panic, his hand a steady weight on his hip bone, grounding him. 

Blinking, Jason feels the soft trickle of unbidden tears spill over his flushed cheeks. “M'sorry I—” he chokes.

"Nothing to be sorry about.” Bruce assures, pulling him in close for a hug. 

Jason struggles for all of a millisecond, until Bruce's free hand slides into his hair, ruffling the gelled curls into a hopeless mess. He presses his face against the slick neon polyester of Matches' suit, trying to make sense of what is happening.

“Are you happy?” Bruce asks softly.

“What?”

“With the wedding.” He sounds almost amused, as if he knows some great secret that Jason hasn't heard about yet. Shaking his head, Jason pulls away, surprised to find Bruce won't let him go too far, both hands falling to his waist and holding him.

“I mean, it's fine. It got the job done, right?” His face is still burning, but the panic is receding a little as he focuses on the task at hand. The mission. Of course Bruce would redirect to  _ that _ . The disappointment that chases the sour curdle of embarrassment is bearable enough, and he tries to keep his breath from hitching further.

“You don't remember?”

“Remember what?”

Bruce's lips pull up in a faint grin. “Ring pop.”

Jason stares at him, blankly.

“I suppose you were very young.” Bruce muses, and his baritone deepens a little. “When you promised to be my baby doll.”

It rushes in like a tidal wave, crashing over him and wipes out every last shred of dignity he ever held. He  _ had  _ been young. Fresh out as Robin, on one of their earliest missions together. He'd been told to hang back while Matches went in and did the talking during some sort of smuggling case. He doesn't remember why, but he'd disregarded orders entirely.

They'd absolutely killed it as Matches and his errand boy Pete. Jason is mortified to remember that he'd played less  _ errand _ and more of a  _ rent _ kind of boy. Dangling off Matches' solid arm and practically nuzzling up to him like a kitten. He'd been handed a ring pop by one of the more grandfatherly mobsters, and gently patted on the head before being told to go play while the adults talked.

He'd taken the initiative and gotten loads of evidence for Bruce in the meantime, before they left to plan their next move. The candy had been all but forgotten in his pocket before they got back to the cave, and for some stupid reason he'd been cocky enough to quip at Bruce, before he'd stripped off his disguise much less the character. He'd slid the ring pop on his left ring finger, flicking his tongue out to taste the cherry lollipop;

“ _ Y'should get me a real rock, just to keep me around. _ ” Jason murmurs, reaching up to clutch his face at his own stupidity.

“That one is real.” Bruce whispers back, lacing his fingers between Jason's own, their rings pressing together. The metal had long grown warm from their own body heat, but the small, faint click sounds like a lock falling into place.

“Yeah?” Jason answers, breath not coming as readily as he wants it to.

“Hn.”

It's a simple design, cast in rose gold with a princess cut diamond big enough to take up the width of his finger, beveled safely in the setting so that the ring is the same height all the way around to keep it from snagging on anything. Bruce's is just a plain band of platinum, solid and serviceable.

“B-” Jason looks up, suddenly shy. Bruce's hand squeezes his firmly.

“Do you want me, Jaylad?”

They've been through so much, and it seems sudden yet Jason knows Bruce is nothing but thorough when it comes to things like this. He wouldn't ask if he didn't want to know. 

The question that remains is what Bruce's game is. If there even is one. Does Jason care? He's seen Bruce do this a million times to women over the years, and it would hurt him deeper than he would like to admit if he's just another conquest along the way of  _ the mission _ .

“I think the real question is do  _ you _ want  _ me _ ?” Jason replies after a long silence, meeting the man's gaze. Searching for so much as a flicker of guilt there that would be the telltale sign that Bruce isn't being genuine.  He finds only a minute softening of pupils, dilating as they take him in.

“I always did.” Bruce admits quietly. “At first, I wanted to be your family. When you came  _ back,  _ that was when it all changed.”

“You mean when I tried to kill you.” Jason pulls his hand away slowly, mulling the admittance over.

“When we tried to hurt each other.” Bruce rumbles, fingers brushing over the pulse of Jason's wrist. “We both know if you wanted to kill me you could have done it.” Jason knows Bruce notices the way his fingers twitch, fully aware that his face is flooding red with shame.

“It's just a little much, you know?” Jason tries to sound nonchalant but fails miserably. “If this is just some game to you, some bit of honey to sweeten me against doing what needs to be done--”

“It's not that.” Bruce shakes his head. “And we both know you've kept your promise to me. I want you Jason. If you'll have me.”

For a moment Jason doesn't know if he's dreaming or in the middle of a pleasant hallucination from Poison Ivy's toxins. It's only when Bruce chuckles at his sly attempt to pinch himself that he scowls and steps into the man's personal space, chests colliding. Bruce's mouth is warm under his own, responding to the hungry caress of his tongue in kind.

“You can't take this back.” He says fiercely.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Bruce shrugs out of his suit jacket while Jason throws his own behind him. They ignore the crash of an innocent lamp getting knocked over in the process, too concerned with getting as much skin bared as they can without physically parting. A few buttons get lost in the plush carpeting, Bruce backing Jason towards the ensuite bedroom.

It’s not Jason’s first time, not by a long shot, but he does feel intimidated beneath the older man’s extensive history. He’s seen the caliber of women Bruce continuously pulls into his sphere, and while he hasn’t seen him with another man before he can guess how handsome they must have been. Bruce’s kisses make him lose focus, moaning softly whenever the man’s quicksilver tongue flicks over the roof of his mouth. A large hand cups him, kneading his rock hard erection before flicking open his slacks. 

Bruce sits back, pulling Jason’s pants down, Gucci underwear and all. Jason throws an arm over his eyes, panting quietly as Bruce looks down at him, trying not to feel self conscious. Fingers brush over his belly, stroking up the line of his abs so gently that it makes Jason squirm. He whines when he runs them back down again, his hips mindlessly lifting ever so slightly when Bruce grazes his pubic bone. He’s never wanted something so badly in his entire life as much as he wants Bruce right now.

“Oh fuck,” He swears wholeheartedly when Bruce wraps his hand around him, resting his thumb just underneath the tip, gently rubbing back and forth. 

“Language,” Bruce’s eyes are twinkling when Jason peeks from beneath his elbow. 

Jason’s entire body flushes when he trembles in the man’s grasp, precum dribbling over his knuckles. He can’t help the whimper in his throat when Bruce rubs his thumb over the slit before pinching the glans firmly enough to make Jason’s toes curl. The punishment is delicious, making his eyes roll back at the overstimulation.

“Mngh,” He shakes his head, shifting beneath the touch. Bruce releases him and they both ignore how Jason’s dick twitches hard enough to slap against his belly. He’s already close and Bruce hasn’t even done anything to him yet. Bruce gives him a moment to calm down while he gets undressed, taking his sweet time. Jason’s seen him nude before, quick glimpses in the shower or for medical care, but never like this. 

Bruce is a big man and he’s proportionate too. Jason tries to do the math of how long it’s been since he’s done this with a man and comes to the decision that they are going to need a lot of lube for this. Far more than the little packet Bruce keeps in his belt for easing creaky door hinges on patrol. As if reading his mind, Bruce pulls a bottle from his slacks as he folds them over a nearby armchair. 

He drops it onto Jason’s chest, placing one knee between his legs as he kneels on the bed with him. Jason feels like the bottle is a lead weight, unable to catch his breath as Bruce leans in with a dark, promising smile. He kisses him, pressing him down into the bed with the force of it, deepening it with tongue and teeth. Jason’s fingers scrape over the man’s broad shoulders, alternating between clinging and stroking frantically with each shift of their lips.

He gasps when Bruce finally releases him, suddenly aware of how shamelessly he’s rubbing his erection over Bruce’s chiseled stomach. Somehow his legs have gained a mind of their own, wrapped around the man’s thick waist. Bruce pulls away, sitting back as he disengages Jason’s hold. Then he smirks, running his strong hands up both broad thighs, tilting Jason’s hips until he has him angled the way he wants him.

“Wait, B--” Jason can’t help but feel exposed, face growing hot as Bruce flips open the cap on the lube with his thumb. 

“It’s alright.” Bruce soothes him, thick fingers pressing to spread his cheeks apart. Lubricant drizzles over his hole, ticklish against the nerve endings gathered there. “We’ll go slow.” Jason nods, shivering from more than just the cold lube sliding down his backside.

He’s expecting Bruce to get it over with, finger him open until he’s gaping enough for his own cock. To his surprise, Bruce rubs circles over his entrance, leaning down to kiss the tip of his penis before he slips a finger in past the first knuckle. Jason’s hands have no choice but to thread into Bruce’s hair when the man goes down, sucking him hard until the bottoms of his feet tingle.

“F-Fuck!” He shakes his head, distracted from the burning stretch of another finger. “B, fucking… B!” He cries out as Bruce pulls away, watching him.

“Patience. Just one more.” Bruce tells him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Whu-what?” He pants, looking between his legs. A low groan falls out of him as Bruce slides a third home, gently stretching the ring of muscle that clamps around his knuckles. “B-Bruce…” He arches his hips, trying to be good when the older man begins to gently rock his fingers inside him. He loses track of how long they stay that way, no longer embarrassed at how open he is and how awkward he looks. Soon enough he feels like every bit of his awareness is concentrated on the warm friction tugging at his center. 

“There you are,” Bruce hums as his fingers slide out, quickly pouring more lube over them before thrusting them back in to test how well Jason can take it. He looks satisfied by the easy glide, smugness radiating at the way Jason shouts as he arches into it.

“C-come on,” Jason throws a calf over Bruce’s shoulder, pulling the older man down. “Please?” 

They both know Bruce lets him, but thankfully the older man doesn’t call him out for it. Instead he procures a condom from somewhere Jason can only guess. He’s far too preoccupied touching the endless expanse of scarred skin, reveling at each dip and divot. The three neat lines spread over the man’s pec in a perfect directional swipe make him pause, a small swell of jealousy springing up like an unwanted house guest. There are a few other marks, all mementos of past lovers. He recognizes the slice of a kris blade on Bruce’s thigh as well.

It’s unfair that he carries a scar from Bruce but the man doesn’t seem to have any from himself. He needs to correct that travesty, now. He digs his blunt nails into Bruce’s side, dragging him down further until he can press his lips to taste the salt on his skin.

Bruce grunts when his teeth score over his shoulder, but he doesn’t move, cupping the back of Jason’s head to press him in close. It’s all the permission Jason needs to make his own mark, something that will remain as long as Bruce survives this crazy world around them. A memorial of teeth claiming what Jason has wanted since he was old enough to desire.

“Hn.” The older man thumbs the wetness on Jason’s lower lip, smearing the blood there. The bite is messy just like his feelings for this man, all boiled down to four little cuts that perfectly match up between his incisors. It’s already bruising, but Bruce pays it no attention as though it were a mere bee sting. He pulls Jason up, hauling him into his lap.

“Brat.” Bruce murmurs, eyes sparkling with mirth. All at once Jason feels just how open he is, the tip of the impressive erection poised perfectly against him. He shakes his head, folding his wrists over Bruce’s shoulder, careful of the scab slowly forming over his wound. 

The hand that comes down over his ass is a shock, heat flaring up his back because damnit, _ it hurts _ . He yelps, going up on his knees to arch away, but Bruce pulls him back down easily. It shouldn’t make him harder to be pinned like this, but it does and he can’t move. Shivers lick down his spine when Bruce’s mouth presses to his ear in a gentle kiss, whispering sweetly.

“You want it?” 

Jason nods desperately, not trusting himself to speak less he say something ridiculous. Not that anything could get more embarrassing than having Bruce finger him open and guide his hips into position. The slide is smooth and slick, but he can’t stop moaning like he’s hurt.

“That’s it, you’re taking it so well.” Bruce has never been one to praise, and maybe it says something about Jason but he’s already leaking and Bruce hasn’t even moved yet. “Be good for me.”

“Oh, shit,” His ass touches Bruce’s lap finally and when the older man lifts him back up it nearly makes him lose it. “No, no, oh shit. Oh fuck, Bruce!” He trembles, squeezing for all he’s worth with his thighs, trying to stay still. “Wait, please wait.” He begs slapping the man’s chest frantically when Bruce takes hold of his waist, hands easily spanning it. He bounces him across his lap without mercy and it’s perfect. 

Jason doesn’t even try to keep up with the pace as his legs give out, because he knows Bruce has him. The sensation of floating begins to build, along with the tense rush of pleasure that he knows is coming on too fast. Orgasm hits him like gravity, hurtling him back to earth as Bruce pulls him down one last time.

He holds him through it, rubbing his back as he trembles, listening to him moan sharply with each pulse. Bruce is as hard and still as a stone inside him, a reminder of his own impressive stamina. It’s only the slight tinge pink over chiseled cheekbones however, that shows proof of his enjoyment.

“Bruce,” Jason breathes through the last spasm, feeling himself beginning to flag. He gets kissed before he can say anything else, tilting back until he hits the bed. 

From there it’s a hazy effort of twisting his limbs and rolling onto his belly going where Bruce’s strong hands put him. Pressing into him again, filling the emptiness,making his breath leave him. Drawing his fists up into the sheets beside his face, he curses appreciatively as Bruce begins to grind into him.

The angle is nice and somewhere in all their rearranging Bruce has liberally poured more lube between them. He squirms against the soft sheets as the pace picks up, each thrust jolting him forward each time. Bruce is a massive force behind him, making him feel small and protected despite the fact that he is a downright bear both in size and temper. Not many people can make him feel this way, and he’s not afraid to admit he loves it.

The heat of Bruce’s fingertips sear into his hips and he knows there will be bruises in the morning but he just doesn't care. He shuffles up onto his knees and bears down as hard as he possibly can, wanting to make Bruce feel as good as he does. Bruce hisses a gasp between his teeth, jerking into him sharply without rhythm. Jason grins over his shoulder, smugness slapped right out of him when Bruce brings his hand over his ass again, somehow finding the same spot from earlier and setting it aflame.

“Fuck!” Bruce fists his cock,  _ when did he get hard again _ , and pounds into him with abandon. Jason can’t stop yelling, begging him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop nnh--” He pulls himself up by the headboard, gripping it like a lifeline. 

Bruce slides into him one last time, digging into him with a throbbing pressure and holds it there. Jason can’t breathe, stuffed full and cock aching in sympathy. A high pitched whine all but topples out of him when Bruce releases him, pulling out with a filthy noise that makes him shudder. He sags against the headboard, forehead pressed to the dark wood as he tries to catch his breath, listening to Bruce dispose of the condom. 

“Ah--” Jason feels a hand clamp around his ankle, pulling him down the bed. He flips onto his back, coming face to face with Bruce, sweat streaked and flushed with dark eyes roving his ravaged body. He bites his lip when Bruce settles between his thighs, no hesitation present in the way he slides Jason down his throat. His eyes roll back, panting when Bruce swallows around him. 

“I can’t--” He all but pets Bruce’s face, the stubble scraping against the pads of his fingers. “B, I’m gonna cum. Please, I’m--” He chokes on the cry that strangles him when the man dips his head down again. “Ohh, god!”

Bruce swallows. He doesn’t know what to do with this information because he’s too busy shaking apart and forgetting his own  _ name _ . The way he kisses his tip tenderly afterwards makes him wince, blearily watching Bruce lick the last droplets that pulse from the slit. Drained, he sighs in relief, appreciating the brush of lips that trace up his abdomen.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks quietly, laying next to him as he possessively strokes one hand over Jason’s stomach. 

“I think so,” Jason hums, too tired to roll over despite how much he wants to burrow into the man’s chest and sleep. Bruce snorts, silent amusement apparent in the imperceptible lift at the corner of his mouth. He lightly thumps the back of his hand against the man’s scarred chest. “Stop laughing.”

Jason dozes off like that, sprawled out and basking in the afterglow. It’s the best he’s slept in years, trusting the man beside him implicitly.

It’s dark when he wakes later, and he finds himself alone but the light is on under the bathroom door. He stumbles towards it, squinting against the brightness when he cracks it open.

Batman stood next to the sink, belt spread out along the edge with pouches loaded and ready for the night ahead. He’s assembling a grapnel gun, having finished up the necessary safety checks. The dark knight turns, cowl regarding him.

“You’re leaving?” Jason fidgets, frowning. It shouldn’t surprise him, they came to do a job after all. Disappointment still niggles between his ribs despite himself. Batman sets the grapnel down, pushing back the cowl to face him.

“I’ll be back soon. You should go back to bed and rest.” He nuzzles him, before kissing his cheek. Warmth chases away the loneliness that had started to take up lodging in his chest   


“I’m going with you.” Jason grumbles, batting him off. The older man pulled the cowl back into place, not pushing the argument. He finishes up the task of gearing up, not rushing despite the way Jason impatiently pushes past him to make it to the shower. “Don’t you dare leave without me!” He warns as Batman silently glides out of the room.

“I won’t, you’re my partner.” Batman reminds him, lifting his hand. The glint of silver over his ring finger catches Jason’s eye, making him fumble the bar of soap. It ricochets off the shower wall to knock him in the shin and he curses, scrambling to grab it. Anything to hide the way he’s blushing, touched at Bruce’s reminder of what transpired between them. It feels like a dream but his shin bone aches as solid proof.  When he finishes, Batman is waiting for him, a tall skulking shadow by the balcony. He pulls on his own uniform, which has mysteriously appeared laid out neatly over their rumpled bed. The ring around Jason’s finger catches strangely under his glove, but he’ll get used to it. He doesn’t plan to take it off anytime soon.

Stepping outside into the Bat’s shadow feels like coming home and Jason thinks he’ll get used to being partners again too. Dropping his helmet into place, he smirks. 

“ _You do know_ _ I’m not wearing panties for you again, right? _ ” 

“I prefer you without any, actually.” Batman doesn’t look at him, shooting his line out into the city and soaring off the ledge. Red Hood’s laughter is lost on the wind, but their bond remains stronger than it ever was.  


**Author's Note:**

> Finally finished this WIP!!! I believe I started it for Brujay week or something but I forget. X_x; I hope you guys enjoyed it, I had a lot of fun writing it. :3 Thanks again to BunnyJess for beta, I truly appreciate the help!


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